Scarred stripes
by EndlessMidnightSky
Summary: 'James.' The word was little more than a breath, but it made the corner of Moriarty's mouth curve up slightly in a sign of confirmation. Sebastian felt ice in his veins as adrenaline began to trickle through his blood. When faced with the hollowed madness that was James Moriarty, even a tiger would cower.


**This oneshot is based on an incredible gifset by skinofstripes and scienceofdestruction on tumblr. I found their expressions, body language and the way they interacted with each other absolutely amazing and felt I just had to write about it. So here it is! If you get the chance, go and check them out. Both of them are just amazing! I hope I've done them justice.**

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Sebastian was grinning as he opened the door to the apartment. The hit had gone without a hitch, he'd made it back eight minutes before schedule, had managed to keep his suit from becoming bloodstained and, on the whole, was feeling rather pleased with himself.

'Jim! I'm home!' he called as he replaced his rifle in the weapons cabinet. For a moment he paused, admiring the array of guns, rifles, knives, pistols and other familiar devices; all of which he could wield with lethal efficiency. Patting his rifle, he closed the door and turned, half expecting to find the Consulting Criminal behind him to test of both his hearing and his reflexes.

The dark haired man was nowhere in sight.

'Jim?' he called again, making his way down the hall and glancing into the rooms as he passed. Through the windows, he could see that the clouds had finally grown bored of covering the entire sky and parted to form a streak of blue through which the sun was now attempting to push its way.

At the slightest of sounds coming from the end of the hallway, Sebastian stilled and cocked his head slightly to one side. For a moment he stood there, then he grinned wider upon hearing the noise again. Striding down the hall, he entered through the already open door that led into the kitchen.

'Didn't you hear me call?' he asked.

Jim was leaning against the far counter in his favourite suit (Westwood, of course) and using his knife to slowly slice up an apple and feed it, piece by piece, into his mouth. His gaze locked onto Sebastian and the knife lowered from his lips as his head rose to take in the other man's form.

Perhaps if the hit had gone badly, the clouds still covered the sky, Sebastian had returned late or neglected to follow Jim's rule of "no blood on the suit", he would've noticed something was wrong. But none of those things had happened. And so he didn't.

Jim put the apple down and stalked towards the sniper.

Sebastian, still smiling and ready to tell his Boss and lover that the bastard was dead and the money was secured, offered up a 'Miss me, Jim?' as the two criminals met halfway across the chessboard tiles.

In one movement, everything changed.

With all the smooth invasion of an oil slick, Jim's hand came up as he closed the final half metre between them. Manicured fingers caught the taller man by the neck, the tips digging in to bruise as he drew Sebastian from his position and thrust him back against the microwave.

The jolt to the head fired a few neurons in Sebastian's brain and only now, too late, did he see the unforgiving darkness and steel cold _hate_ that had penetrated his lover's eyes. His own eyes widened in shock and a hint of fear as he realised his mistake.

'_James._' The word was little more than a breath, but it made the corner of Moriarty's mouth curve up slightly in a sign of confirmation.

Sebastian felt ice in his veins as adrenaline began to trickle through his blood. When faced with the hollowed madness that was James Moriarty, even a tiger would cower.

The glint of light on metal drew Sebastian's eyes down and he froze when they came to alight on the blade James had been using to carve up the apple not thirty seconds ago.

He looked back up, only now realising that, in this position, James was taller than him. For a moment, their gazes locked and while one sought out a hint of mercy in desperation, the other identified panic and fear with malicious glee.

The knife rose.

'Jim…'

The hand around his throat tightened, fingers that seemed too cold to belong to a living man cut off what could've been either a plea or a reasoning but ended as a gasp.

When the knife reached facial height, Sebastian twisted in the younger man's grip, gritting his teeth and turning his head away in an effort to dissuade him from whatever hell knew he was planning.

James, however, was undeterred and merely tightened his grip harder and harder. His expression slowly morphed from cold impassiveness to the corners of his lips turning up and pursing in irritated amusement at the blonde's useless attempts to escape.

When the cold steel met Sebastian's cheek and dug into the flesh, the sniper fell still. The blade was blurred out of focus, making him acutely aware how close to his eye it was. Struggling now was dangerous; it would only take a small slip.

What use was a blind sniper?

His stormy eyes darted like the caged animal he was, again and again coming back up to James', silently calling for freedom. None was granted.

At the first draw of blood, Sebastian hissed, the noise escaping through clenched teeth without his consent. For a single, ridiculous moment, he dared hope that this would be all. That even James had a merciful side. In one last attempt, he looked up, only to find James' tongue running over his lips in a way that could have been almost seductive if not for the current situation. But what made Sebastian's heart skip was the black chasms that had replaced his eyes and the ravenous gaze that raked over him, settling on the blood welling at the wound.

Bloodlust.

And then _ah!_ It was as if liquid fire was being drawn across his face in slow procession! Sebastian barely contained a snarl of anguish as he gripped the aggressor, long fingers digging into perfectly tailored cloth. In the cold fire of pain, instinct drove him to try and force James away from him while the still-intact part of his mind warned him that it was pointless. James was unmoved.

The unmistakeable stickiness of warm blood flowing down his cheek, soon followed by a trickle from across the bridge of his nose only made the cold fire of the blade even more potent.

A lesser man would have cried out, howled in agony as Moriarty carved a new stripe into his tiger. Moran had many stripes, yet they didn't make him any more immune to the signals his nerves were streaking up to his brain. His eyelids locked down as if the loss of sight would cut off those signals and make the pain more bearable. It didn't.

After what felt like an age, the fire no longer seemed to be contained to a single line of origin; but came from his whole face. Sebastian continued to claw uselessly at James' shoulders until the knife finally broke contact. Fires burn even after the match is no longer being held to the firewood.

His mouth opened in silent scream even as James stepped away. Sebastian's fingers made one last attempt to grip at his boss before they slipped down and fell limply to his sides. The pressure around his neck eased and then vanished with a last trail of fingertips that was deceptively gentle.

The adrenaline draining out of him, Sebastian slumped back against the counter, breathing ragged, eyes still closed against the world. He heard James' footsteps leave the room and head in the direction of his study and only once they'd faded from his hearing did he allow himself a choked gasp.

Gingerly, he brought his thumb and forefinger up to brush the laceration, eyes tightening against the fresh wave of pain the contact sent through him. His fingers came away dripping, and he stared as a drop fell from his forefinger to the ground. James would make him clean that up later, but right now, he was more focused on struggling to get the pain under control.

It was strange that intent could have such an influence over whether pain was singular suffering, or doubled as pleasure. At least half of Sebastian's scars came from Moriarty, yet it seemed that none had been created with as much raw torment as this. Why? Because it was James and not Jim? Because it was done with the sole intent of causing him pain?

He wasn't sure he wanted to find out.

Gritting his teeth, he probed at the wound again before yanking his hand back and letting out a hiss. Shit, this was going to scar badly. Almost as badly as the one down his eye which made him look like that creep from the Lion King.

He needed to stop the bleeding. If James was going to stick around, it was likely that this was only the beginning. Blood conservation was vital..

With all the stealth a sniper possessed, he crept past Moriarty's office and into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

Sebastian was going to sleep on the couch that night, but a single look had him pivoting on the ball of his foot to head up for their shared bedroom. He crawled into bed and turned to face the wall, curling in on himself.

The bed dipped as Moriarty lay down next to him and the next moment, wiry arms were around him. He barely dared breathe when one hand felt its way up his torso, to his face, feeling around the gauze he'd put over the damage.

There was a second's pause, then Moriarty tore the gauze off in a single movement and dug his fingers into the wound, drawing a stifled cry from his sniper. Caught in the lithe constriction, the taller man shuddered at the collar of breath across his neck.

'_Mine._'

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**Yes, it's dark. I never said it would be pretty. Well, with those two, is it ever?**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. Please tell me what you thought, good or bad. If bad, constructive critisism only. Flames will be used to light bombs.**

**Thanks for reading.**

**~EndlessMidnightSky~**


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